That day, Claire and Charlie got taken. What the fuck did that mean? Taken? We were plane-crash survivors on a deserted island, how the hell could they be kidnapped? And why? Okay, I could see, in a roundabout way, what someone might want with Claire. Hot, vulnerable chick. And maybe the pregnancy factored in somehow, after all, Claire has said someone wanted to hurt her baby. But what about Charlie? Why the hell would anybody want him?
They determined, using the flight manifest, that the perpetrator must have been Ethan. He was nowhere to be found, so that made sense. But I remembered Ethan. Average guy, of average build. He would've had a tough time kidnapping two people, even though Charlie seemed like somewhat of a sissy and Claire was, well, a little pregnant blonde girl.
Everyone else was accounted for, at least. So there was no way one of us could have been an accomplice. That made me rest easier, just a little, knowing that some other seemingly normal person I'd been sleeping near for weeks wasn't suddenly to be feared.
I was still scared out of my mind. Whatever quality made the attacker want Claire and Charlie, I feared that I had it, too. Easy target. Young. Blond, though that probably didn't matter, unless he was some sort of textbook serial killer.
Everyone who hadn't gone out with the search party was sitting around the caves, scared and worried, when Sawyer ran into our midst. My heart, jumpy from nerves already, kicked into high gear. Everyone looked up at him, surprised and wary. He came to an abrupt halt at their uniform gaze, but he was looking around desperately. Looking for me, I realized, when his eyes rested on me and his face relaxed.
"What are you doing here?" Someone asked him.
"Did I miss the search party?" He fabricated, much calmer now.
"Yeah, they left fifteen minutes ago. What, you're not saying you actually wanted to go with them?"
"I was gonna. Never mind." He said, turning and walking away. I got up and left the clearing, in the other direction to be inconspicuous, before looping around and hurrying to catch up with him.
"What was that about?"
"What was what about?"he replied, innocently.
"You know what."
"I heard about Charlie and Claire, okay?"
"That's not why you came."
"Then why did I come, Thursday?"
I paused, and he continued walking. I followed. "I'm fine. Ethan took Claire and Charlie, I'm fine."
"I can see that. You're perfectly okay. I think I'd know if you were kidnapped, because I'd have a moment of silence for once." He didn't fool me.
"Of course I'm okay. You shouldn't have worried."
"Worried? Honey, that's Jack's job. We both know it."
"It's to do with her pregnancy, I think. Maybe he only took Charlie because he was with her, a witness. Either way, there's no reason anyone'd hurt me."
"I can think of a few very good reasons." Sawyer said, trying to sound dark and threatening. "But I know, you're fine. You've not been kidnapped. Now will you leave me alone?"
"Why did you worry, though? Why did you think I might be in danger?"
"I didn't."
"You did."
"Alright. Fine." He pivoted, mid-step, towards me. "It was stupid. I just heard that someone'd been taken into the jungle, and they didn't know who did it, and I thought to myself, 'Cammy's a fifteen-year-old girl, she's vulnerable. An easy target. A constant annoyance. What if she's next?' And I couldn't help myself, I ran. By the time I got halfway to the caves, I knew I was being ridiculous. But I had to see your face. I had to know you were okay. Which you are, so will you leave me alone?"
He started to walk away from me, and I just stood there, speechless. Then the sky opened up and it was dark as night. He kept walking, unphased, for a bit. Then he turned on me, again.
"You know I can't leave you standing alone in the jungle in a storm when there's a kidnapper on the loose." It was an accusation, as though I'd made it rain, on purpose, and set the kidnapper loose, too. "C'mon, the beach is closer than the caves." He yelled over the downpour. I tried to walk behind him, but he didn't like having me out of his line of sight in the dark, dangerous forest.
"After you." He muttered, annoyed, and I walked in front of him. I wasn't very comfortable having my eyes off of him, either. But soon we reached the beach, the far end of the beach where his tent was set up. I was soaked by then, and gladly entered when he gestured that I should do so. The inside was bigger than it looked, but relatively dry. I sat on one of the makeshift seats, uncomfortable more mentally than physically. It was so easy to banter with him, sometimes. This wasn't one of those times.
"Here." He said, handing me a blanket to wrap around my soaked shoulders.
"Thanks."
"Are you afraid?"
I had to think about his question for a moment. I had to determine what he meant. Afraid of him, this tent, this moment, what I felt? Yes. But I realized he meant afraid of whoever had taken Claire and Charlie. "Yes."
"Are you afraid to be sleeping in the caves?"
I had to think about that, too. "Yes. That's where stuff seems to go wrong, or at least, nearby there. I don't want to go back there tonight." And night was coming. It had been evening when it started raining, maybe eight o'clock. By the time the rain stopped, I was sure it'd be dark, or nearly dark. "Hardly anybody is there, they all went out looking."
"You could stay here, if you really want. And in the morning you could set up your own tent on the beach, if you still don't want to go back to the caves." He was so reluctant, wishing he didn't have to offer what he was offering. But he couldn't send me back there tonight. Whatever he said, he was good, and he couldn't do that.
"Thank you."
We sat in silence until the rain stopped, and just as I predicted, the clouds cleared to show a flaming orange sunset.
"There are some extra clothes in that suitcase, something might fit you. I'm gonna go down the beach and see if anyone's heard anything about Claire and Charlie, yet. I'll be right back. You'll be fine." He said, seeming too exhausted and irritated to bother trying to sound tough or uncaring. I nodded, and he left. I tried not to tremble the moment he left, and fought fear with reason. If the attacker came anywhere near the beach –which he probably wouldn't, he'd be too busy taking Claire and Charlie wherever he intended to take them- all he'd see was Sawyer's lone little tent. Nobody knew I was here. So, unless the Ethan or his accomplice(s) were looking to steal something from Sawyer's stash of goods, they wouldn't come anywhere near here. That didn't reassure me, much.
I rifled through the spare clothes, things I realized had belonged to people who were now dead, and I didn't care. I found a tank top, baggy sweatpants, and a hoodie. Good enough. I changed into them, and balled up my old, damp clothes, including my discarded bra and Monday panties, and stuffed them in an empty plastic bag I found. Then I sat, trying not to be terrified. It reminded me so much of the nights I spent in the guest room at my sister's house, except that then, I knew what to expect. I didn't know whether my fears would come to pass or not, but at least I knew what they were. Now, sitting alone in the tent of the jackass I was starting to think I loved, I didn't know exactly what to fear.
FWOOOO
When he came, I wasn't anywhere near prepared. I'd dozed off in a sitting position, but I wasn't fully asleep. I remember watching the crack of light from the hallway's window grow, with a soft, creaking whoosh. I sat up straighter, suddenly forgetting everything I'd decided on, every certainty I'd hated but accepted, and tried to scream. Nothing came out of my mouth, but from Jared's came a "Shhhh," lost in the thumping of blood in my ears. He closed the door behind him. When I heard it click, I closed my eyes and stopped scrabbling to think of a way out of this situation.
FWOOOO
"Cammy?" Panic, then hands tearing mine from my face, forcing me to look up into his. "Cammy, are you okay?" More panic.
"Oh, God," I muttered. In an attempt at avoiding the fear of here and now, I'd slipped into a memory of a similar fear. I'd had my eyes clenched shut against an image of my sister's husband's silhouette in the darkness, and now a different face stared back at me. "I . . ." I tried to say something. I don't know what. And then I leaned forward, just a little. I never knew, after, whether I was trying to kiss him, or trying to stand up, to get away. I think I wanted to do both. But it was the former I accomplished, if badly.
My nose hit his, before we both tilted our heads to the side, instinctively. The same side, but that didn't matter, he tilted way more than me. And I put all my weight into the kiss, leaning on his shoulders and curling my hands around his neck. So when he broke it off, pushing me harshly away, I nearly tumbled backwards into the tent wall. He stared at me as I regained my balance, and I looked into my lap, biting my offending lips and trying to hold back tears.
"Don't . . . don't do that." He said, still staring at me in shock.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize. It was my fault for encouraging it. Just don't do it again." Encouraging it? He'd reciprocated the kiss for maybe seven seconds. That was anything but encouraging.
"Okay. But I am. Sorry, I mean. You've been so nice, letting me stay here, and all . . . "
"Haha. Nice. Yeah, I'm Mr. Rogers." He said, settling into the chair opposite me.
"You're nice to me. Why aren't you nice to anyone else?" I worded it like a young child would, but it was a simple question.
"I'm not nice to you, Thursday. You're just defective, and somehow can't tell what mean is." I looked back down at my lap, and this time I couldn't stop the tears. "Hey, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm sorry. It's just that you're probably right. I'm probably going to end up as one of those women who always falls in love with the worst possible men, the guys who treat her like shit, and then don't realize he's an asshole for a very long time."
I knew he was burning to ask me why. But he didn't, and I was grateful.
"I didn't mean you, you know. When I said that, about being drawn to the worst guys, the assholes. No, you just want to be, but you're not that person. You're good."
"I'm not."
"Why not?"
"Cammy, do you want to know what I did back in the States?"
"Okay."
"I was a conman."
"Okay . . . " I said. That didn't sound so bad, I was waiting for more.
"Do you know what that means? It means I spent my life tricking people out of their lives' savings. I tore families apart, I broke the hearts of countless naive women."
"Oh. That's kinds bad, yeah." I admitted dully.
"And do you want to know what I did the day before I boarded this plane?" He rapped his knuckles on a piece of fuselage he'd been using as a table.
"No." I said, but only because I knew he'd tell me anyway.
"I killed an innocent man. I shot him and watched him die as I realized he wasn't the man I thought he was."
I was silent. He'd given me a lot to think about. One question was easy, it didn't require any moral stances on my part, regarding his past.
"Who's the man you thought you were killing?"
He laughed hollowly. "Now, that's a story for another day."
"Why'd you tell me all of this?" Did you tell Kate all of this, too?
"Because I need you to understand just why you should stay away from me." Ah, that's why you didn't tell Kate this. You don't want her to stay away.
"Hmm," was all I could say.
"I'm sorry for saying that, about you being defective. I didn't mean it, I just couldn't understand why you . . . why you have this ridiculous attraction towards me."
"I don't!" I denied instinctually, forcefully. It didn't convince anyone. "I . . . I have my reasons."
"And what on earth might those be, Thursday?" He was letting his guard drop, letting his voice come out playful, flirty, natural. I knew he didn't mean to, he didn't know he was doing it. It was like watching someone who didn't realize their fly was unzipped. I vaguely intended to take advantage of this, but I didn't plan the next words that came out of my mouth.
"The usual, Sawyer. You're sexy as fucking hell, for one. And I suppose you have the bad-boy thing going on, what with everyone hating you. And you're so candid, at times that-" I started, before he interrupted me. I was glad for it, because I feared I'd keep talking and talking and talking, unable to stop my tongue from forming mortifying words.
"Cut it out, Cammy." His walls were back up, and he spoke angrily. "You're a silly child, you don't know what you want. You don't understand what you're saying. You're being immature and impulsive and thoughtless, and I need you to stop," He said, before repeating, "I need you to stop."
"Okay." We sat quietly a while longer, before a thought came to me. "Holy crap! I didn't ask you, did you hear anything about Claire and Charlie? That's the whole reason you left."
"Actually, the main reason I left was so that you could change in privacy, but yeah, I heard the latest. They . . . they found Charlie."
The way he said it terrified me. "They found him? Is he . . . is he dead?"
"He was. But Dr. Jack saved him. You should hear the way that crazy old lady, Rose, talked about it. She wasn't even there, and yet she spent a great while relaying to me the dramatic events leading to Charlie's resuscitation." I looked at him, puzzled. "They found him hanging by his neck from a tree." I gasped, and felt sick. "But Jack wouldn't give up on him, even when Kate told him it was over, he kept trying, and miraculously, Charlie took a big breath of air. And he's fine. Little hoarse, so he won't be singing any of his whiny little homo songs for a while, but he's alive." He said, before adding reluctantly, "Thank Christ, he's alive."
"And . . . and Claire?" He hadn't mentioned her first for a reason. She was dead, I knew it. They'd found her body.
"No trace of her. Charlie just keeps saying that Ethan wanted her for something, and took her somewhere."
"Oh, no." I said, secretly, shamefully relieved. Ethan was far from here, it sounded like. I would have done anything I could right then to get her and her baby 'home' safely, but still, a part of me was glad that Ethan was taking her so far away. I hated myself for it. "So, Ethan was alone? Then how'd he overpower the both of them?"
"Well, Locke says he hunted with Ethan for a while, and that the creep has some serious hunting skills. Which is weird, but I mean, Locke himself has some pretty freaky skills, and we never suspected him. Anyway, this is Charlie we're talking about, and a nine-month-pregnant girl. You could probably overpower them."
"Sawyer?"
"Yeah?"
"Claire is missing. What the fuck? How the hell does someone get kidnapped on a deserted island by . . . well, who the hell is he? How does this happen? And what the fuck are the noises in the jungle about? What the fuck!"
"I know, Cammy. What the fuck is right. Try and get some sleep."
"Yes, sleep. While there are crazy people out there abducting pregnant chicks, people who weren't on our plane. Sure, I'll sleep."
"It's fine. Here, you sleep over here, there's a sleeping bag for you, and I'll sleep closer to the entrance. That way, no one is getting to you without going right over me."
"Alright. Thank you. I don't care what you say or what you've done, you are nice. When you want to be."
"Trust me Cammy, I don't want to. You're one person I wish I could be most horrible to."
"Why?"
"Go to sleep." He lay down quite a distance from me, and in the opposite direction so his feet were near my head. That, and the fact that we were in two separate sleeping bags, and this was the most platonic sleeping arrangement I'd ever engaged in.
"Sawyer?"
"Yeah?"
"I can't sleep just yet."
I felt a flashlight plop into my lap, followed by what was unmistakeably a book.
"Are You There God, it's me, Margaret?" I asked, incredulously.
"It's a pretty good read. Go on."
And so I read half of the Judy Blume book, that night, in the dark beside the single most difficult person I'd ever known, and I forgot to fear for my life. I even forgot to feel broken.